


The Man in the Mask

by thelonebamf



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, author playing it kinda fast and loose with the canon, pew pew pew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonebamf/pseuds/thelonebamf
Summary: When Wade is unceremoniously dropped off into the custody of one Dr. Parker, he assumes the man has only the worst possible intentions for one of the world's last remaining mutants. But it turns out, the universe still holds plenty of surprises for them both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got bitten by a radioactive plot bunny, so I wanted to give writing this pair a shot. I've basically stolen several fragments of the comic book canon for my own purposes- but hopefully it will be an entertaining ride for you all.

The car lurched to a stop, not for the first time that night. Wade didn’t bother moving; if they wanted him to get out of the vehicle he’d know soon enough. It wasn’t as though he’d been asked if he wanted to go on this journey to god know’s where anyway. As with every other part of his life, he was at the mercy of others- those who destiny had put in control of his fate.

 

_Well, either destiny, or a totalitarian government on its last legs._

 

**But hey, a change of scenery is nice right?**

 

“Shut up,” he growled.

 

“That’s enough of that,” came the familiar voice from the front seat. “You’ll stay quiet or-”

 

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry. These lips are sealed.”

 

He rolled his head against the seat, shoulders burning from being pulled tight behind his back, wrists rubbing raw in the special cuffs that restrained him, but true to his word, he grew quiet and still. Finally, his patience was rewarded and he felt a rush of fresh air as one of the doors opened, and he was guided out on unsteady legs, aching from several days of travel.

 

“Nice neighborhood,” he mumbled. “Me and the missus were thinking of buying a summer home around here, something with a yard near the schools.”

 

“Quiet!”

 

He couldn’t see where they’d dragged him through the thick fabric of the hood they’d draped over his head, held firmly in place by the collar around his neck, but he could tell they were in the city, or a city at any rate. Wade could just about make out the distant sound of traffic on highways, although of course there was less of that then there had been in recent years.

 

It was actually the scent of the air, the unique smell of pavement after a rain. He made a low sound in the back of his throat as he imagined the cool air against his skin, which of course was hidden away by the drab uniform he’d been wearing for far too long. Wade had to settle for the fantasy of cold, clean water running down his face. How long had it been? Since he’d stood in the rain. Since he’d listened to the rumble from the sky? One that didn’t turn out to be the sound of distant artillery, at any rate.

 

His musing was cut short however, when he felt a sharp jab at his back, and was yanked forward again.

 

“We’re going upstairs,” came the lone instruction. His only information about what was to come next.

 

It was four or five flights by his count, though it was hard to keep track with the constant turns at landings, each one punctuated with another push, some absolutely harsher than they needed to be. He’d stopped putting up much of a fight long ago.

 

The bright side, well, for a given value of “bright” anyway, all things considered, was that he wasn’t going to die. Couldn’t, actually- despite the universe’s best efforts. It was sort of cruel if he thought about it for too long. The punchline to a joke that never ends.

 

Still, he didn’t relish the idea that he was being led into some kind of Torture-arium for the foreseeable future. And while Wade was by all accounts, and absolute idiot- he wasn’t stupid. He knew there was a market for people like him, well, the ones that were left anyway. And whoever had thought it was worth loosening their purse strings to ship him halfway across the country probably didn’t do so just for the pleasure of his company.

 

Of course, if they had, they’d be getting an absolute bargain.

 

**_Three for the price of one, eh?_ **

 

Wade opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of abrupt knocking, and some muffled words from the other side of the door. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but soon enough he could here series of mechanical clicks and hums, and finally a door being pulled open.

 

“Move,” came the gruff command behind him.

 

“Nick, that’s not… I mean really, is all of this necessary?”

 

A young man’s voice, a little reedy and uncertain.

 

“Believe me, this one is more trouble than you might think. You even get a whiff that he’s about to start something, do not hesitate to shoot him in the head. We’ll come collect him.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not going to-”

 

“I’m not playing around, kid. This guy’s got a rap sheet that stretches as long as the 49th parallel. He’s dangerous. I wouldn’t even consider leaving him in the custody of a civilian if it wasn’t for your... circumstances. There’s too much at risk here. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

 

“I… I won’t.”

 

“So we’re gonna be roomies?” Wade blurted out, having been quiet for over a minute which was far too long by his count. “Fun! Who gets the top bunk? Do you shower in the morning or at nights because I want to make sure we work things out. It takes me _ages_ to do anything with my hair.”

 

“Wilson!” Another yank at the chain, pulling him sharply back another two paces.

 

“Fuck, man!” Wade spat, only managing to stick a glob of red on the inside of his hood. “You gotta tag things if this is gonna be one of _those_ kind of stories.”

 

“Nick, that’s enough,” the young man spoke again. “I think I can handle things from here.”

 

“I’m absolutely serious,” Fury grumbled again. “He even gets one hair out of line, you call us.”

 

“Wouldn’t worry about it,” Wade chimed. “Don’t have any!”

 

That earned him a quick shove, but the other two men seemed to leave for a moment, having a brief conversation just out of earshot. In a few minutes, the same gentle whirr of the door could be heard, slamming shut and leaving Wade standing in silence.

 

_So what do you think? Lab rat, or are we in for some Fifty Shades of fucked up?_

 

“Mr. Wilson?”

 

Apparently he wasn’t alone just yet.

 

“I’m going to touch you-”

 

“Kinky.”

 

“I meant to say, I’m going to remove the hood and collar. Is that an inhibitor?”

 

“Nah,” Wade managed to shake his head a little. “I’m not one of those eye-beam, fire-breathing mutants. Plus, if they did get one of those bad boys around me, I’m pretty sure I’d just drop dead. I dunno, never tried. Could be neat to find out though.”

 

“Yes. Nick explained your mutation to me earlier.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll remove the collar and cuffs, and then we’ll get a look at you, alright?”

 

“You’re the boss,” Wade shrugged. “Speaking of which, how does that work? Do I call you 'Boss'? 'Chief'? ' _Master'?_ ”

 

His rambling was cut short as the weight around his neck fell away, arms suddenly free to move. For a fraction of a second, his fight or flight responses kicked in, and he considered the idea of blindly attacking the man in front of him- but before he got too far into that plan, the heavy hood was pulled from his head, and he had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust to the sudden light.

 

When they did, he found himself looking into the earnest face of his new “owner”. Younger than he’d thought, with earnest eyes and a curious gaze that made Wade very aware of just how filthy his uniform had become, to say nothing of himself.

 

“You can call me Peter.”


	2. Chapter 2

Wade let the hot water run and run and run until it the last drop had filtered down the drain and only icy cold streams were beating against his skin. He didn’t care. It was still the most wonderful thing he’d experienced in as long as he’d care to remember. For a few fleeting moments the dull ache in his body softened, even the constant chatter of the voices in his head had quieted down, allowing him these precious minutes of peace.

 

Eventually, he pulled himself from the shower, and stood naked in the cramped bathroom, staring down at the tidy pile of clothing left for him. It wasn’t much- a pair of sweats, a long sleeved shirt from the same set. Neither were new, but they also clearly didn’t belong to Peter, who would have ended up swimming in them. He pulled them on, along with a fresh set of boxers which _were_ new, still in the package with several other pairs.

 

That left only the final item, which presented its own challenges.

 

 _“I don’t require it,”_ read the note he’d found on top of the stack. _“But I understand if it makes you more comfortable.”_

 

He turned the mask over in his hands a few times, considering it. It was simple, a few pieces of black cloth sewn together with eyeholes cut and stitched to secure them. There wasn’t much to it, other than the fact that it was of a comfortable lightweight material… and the fact that it had been provided at all.

 

The wardens at the camp where he’d been contained for the last several years rarely gave any consideration to such needs. Occasionally a scrap of burlap, or old pillowcase might find its way into his cell, one of the men scoffing and making comments about how he didn’t want to “lose his lunch just because he had to pull duty in the freak wing”. Typically, Wade would go ahead and make use of them. He told himself it was because it was easier to watch his captors unnoticed.

 

This particular mask was different, and had clearly been chosen with prolonged wear in mind, and was unlikely to scratch or chafe- not that it mattered much, but it was worth nothing. Wade pulled it on, and assessed himself briefly in the mirror before finally stepping outside.

 

It was a strange place he’d been brought to- an apartment turned into a workspace, or perhaps an office that someone had slowly started living in. Neither would have surprised him. The layout was simple, just a few rooms, and a main area that served both as living area and dining room. It opened into a simple kitchen that sported some basic equipment. Had there been more stray DVD cases and a few empty cans of beer, it might not have been unlike some of the bachelor pads Wade himself had inhabited, once upon a time.

 

It was in the kitchen that he found Peter, hunched over the sink, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows.

 

“I always seem to be doing the dishes,” he said softly, not looking up from his task. “You’d think with just one person it wouldn't be hard to keep ahead of things. Well _two_ now, I suppose. There’s a couple of sandwiches and some soup on the counter there if you’re hungry. It’s just from a can, I’m afraid but-”

 

“That sounds fucking amazing, actually.” Wade glanced around until he saw the plate sitting on its own, a small saucer covering the bowl, keeping its contents warm. Without waiting for Peter to repeat the invitation he helped himself, taking a seat at the small table pushed up against the wall.  

 

Before he could think about how long it had been since he’d actually had a half decent meal (What were those, vegetables? Honest to goodness pieces of lettuce and tomato?) he’d wolfed down two of the sandwich halves and was starting on a third.

 

**It’s probably almost definitely not poisoned!**

 

_Would we care if it was?_

 

“Thanks for this,” Wade mumbled after a while, wiping the crumbs from his face with the heel of his palm before replacing the lower half of his mask. “I’m sure they probably told you, I don’t actually have to eat, if it gets down to it.”

 

“Yes, I’ve seen your files.” Peter took the only other seat at the table, a mug of tea held tightly in his hands, the tips of his fingers tapping gently at its handle. “But I wouldn’t feel like much of a host if I didn’t provide for the most basic things. Just because you can survive something doesn’t mean you should be forced to constantly endure it. And I assume you _enjoy_ eating.”

 

“Love it,” Wade nodded in agreement, crumpling up the paper napkin he’d been given before throwing it on his plate. “Used to be one of my favorite things. Finding those little hole-in-the-wall joints. Family run greasy spoons where they may or may not speak any English. Just one bad health inspection away from being shut down for good.” He whistled a little to himself.

 

“But I’m guessing places like that don’t really exist anymore, huh.”

 

“Not as such, no.” Peter shook his head. “But it sounds wonderful, that sort of thing.”

 

“Well maybe sometime you’ll let me whip up a mass of Wilson’s famous enchilada surprise.” He leaned forward, beckoning with one hand for Peter to come closer before he revealed his secret. “The surprise is… they’re really tacos. Ha!” He leaned back in his seat, clearly very satisfied with himself.

 

“I think I’d enjoy that quite a bit, Mr. Wilson,” Peter nodded. “We might be able to arrange it.”

 

“Okay first off, you gotta stop calling me that,” Wade interjected. “ Makes me feel like I’m trapped in a “Dennis the Menace” comic instead of a kick-ass superhero story I’ve got going.”

 

“Wade, then.”

 

“That’s me.”

 

For a moment, Wade almost regretted having interrupted. The pleasant stream of small talk (and he was typically not a fan of small talk) was cut short, leaving the two in an awkward silence at the table. Peter shifted uneasily in his seat, clearing his throat as he turned and adjusted the mug in his hands.

 

“Look, if this is all some weird sex thing, you should probably go ahead and tell me and show me to the room with all the whips and chains and whatever.”

 

Wade was only half joking. In reality “niche fetish sex slave” was one of the better fates for a mutant these days. The unlucky ones typically ended up strapped to lab tables, jabbed and tinkered and played with until there was one less of their kind in the world.

 

“What? No! I don’t want-” Peter’s eyes widened in horror and he had to scramble to grab his mug in order to keep it from spilling over. “It’s nothing like that.”

 

“Good. I guess that means at least _one_ of us isn’t crazy.”

 

_Almost a pity though, huh?_

 

**Yes, he is kind of pretty…**

 

_That’s not what I-_

 

“Hush!” Wade boxed in his temples with both palms, shaking his head as he willed his mind to quiet.

 

“Maybe it would be a good idea if I showed you to your room,” Peter said as he rose from his seat, waiting for Wade to do the same. “You’ve had a long day. Some rest will do you good.”

 

“Yeah, alright.”

 

It wasn’t exactly a grand tour; Peter just led him to the same hallway he’d followed to the bathroom, but this time he opened the door on the opposite side.

 

“I’m afraid there’s no lock on the door, but I won’t enter without knocking,” he explained.

 

“Pete- I’ve spent the last several years sharing a cell with half a dozen roommates who didn’t so much as give me a heads up when they wanted to piss, jerk it or straight up die. I’m sure this will be… fine.”

 

He paused in the doorway, staring at the small, but tidy room. Like the clothing he now wore, it was clear it had belonged to someone else before him. None of the furniture or fixtures were new, the lamp on the desk in particular was a little dated, not that many people bothered keeping up with home furnishing trends these days. And there was a bed. An honest to goodness bed with real actual sheets and blankets and a pillow that wasn’t covered in questionable spots and smells.

 

He turned his head just enough to check Peter’s expression, to make sure this wasn’t just part of some strange ploy or sick humor. But the young man simply continued to stand a few paces away, same look of earnest curiosity on his face.

 

“Yeah. This will be just fine.” He repeated. “Now that you come to mention it, I think some sleep is definitely the thing. Is there anything else?”

 

Peter shook his head. “Not for now. I’ll just be in my room over in the ‘West Wing’.” He motioned to the other side of the hall. “I’ll ask that you not trespass as… _it’s forbidden._ ”

 

Wade’s eyes widened as he glanced from Peter to the seemingly innocuous door across the way.

 

“I’m kidding,” Peter smiled softly. “But it’s a bit of a mess and I find it kind of embarrassing. You can knock if you need me.”

 

There were a few seconds of silence before Wade felt a gentle rumble building in his chest, slowly building until it rolled out, laughter, booming and deep.

 

“Oh. Oh my god, _Pete_. You gotta warn me before you break out the Disney jokes, that stuff is potent. I haven’t thought about that movie since the last time I was hanging out with El-” he stopped abruptly, clearing his throat.

 

“It’s… it’s been a while.”

 

“For us both, I wager,” Peter nodded, taking one more step back until he was completely outside the room. “But for now, I suppose it’s good night. Of course, the bathroom is yours to use, and don’t feel shy about helping yourself to anything in the kitchen. As they say in movies, _be our guest_.”

 

Without another word, Peter went back down the hall, letting the door close behind him.

 

Wade stood motionless for a few minutes, eyes carefully trained on the door as though it might open at any second. When it remained closed, he began to inspect the rest of the room. The closet and dresser both contained several more sets of gently used clothing, most of which was in his size. There was a spare set of linens stored on one of the upper closet shelves, and a few sundry basics- a toothbrush, some soaps and mouthwash were all neatly laid out on the top of the dresser.

 

Fifteen years ago, Wade might have found the room painfully boring. But now? It was the Presidential suite at the Four Seasons.

 

He sat slowly on the bed, listening to each of the springs as they groaned under his weight. Giving the mattress a few experimental pats, he finally laid down, eyes already falling shut beneath his mask.

 

_It’s nice._

 

**Too nice.**

 

_And quiet._

 

 **Too quiet**.

 

_We almost told him about Ellie._

 

**Close, but no cigar.**

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Wade snapped. “Ellie’s _fine._ She’s safe. Somewhere far away from all of this.”

 

Is there anyplace away from this?

“I- I don’t....” His voice cracked, eyes closed tight as he focused on the knotted tension just beneath his skull.

 

“She’s _fine_ ,” he repeated, a deliberate weight to each word. “She’s far away from this.”


	3. Chapter 3

As prisons went, it was a very comfortable one, and Wade would know. After all he’d seen the inside of several in his day.

 

This was a different sort of beast. The more time he spent there, the more he recognized it for what it was, a run of the mill apartment, repurposed and secured to contain one or more residents. The locks on the door where electronic and beyond his ability to pick without any kind of tools and the windows were reinforced so even if he was interested in leaving a red splatter on the pavement below he couldn’t break through. But in truth, Wade didn’t really want to, even if he knew he’d walk away from the fall some hours later.

 

Here he was free to wander around the few rooms as he liked, help himself to the kitchen and shower whenever he needed, and Peter made good on his promise to knock before entering his bedroom, usually just speaking him through the door without opening it at all. Hell, there was even a television with a modest stack of movies should the basic cable gods fail to provide. Only Peter’s workspace remained locked, but that was understandable and Wade had little interest in prying and disrupting the tentative peace he’d found, even if it was sure to be temporary.

 

_Any day now, Fury is going to show back up at that door to drag you away._

 

**All the more reason to stuff your face with another grilled cheese now.**

 

Wade found Peter seated at the kitchen table, nursing half a mug of coffee that was probably stone cold by now.

 

“Room for one more?” He didn’t wait for an answer before taking a seat, mouth already watering at in anticipation of digging into one of the bundles of toasted cheesy goodness on his plate.

 

“Always.” Peter nodded and straightened himself out a bit, tucking his legs under his chair instead of letting them sprawl out under the table. He closed the folder he’d been browsing half-heartedly, although it Wade thought it might be due more to exhaustion than disinterest.

 

“What’s that you got there, Pete?” He motioned to the folder with a chunk of his sandwich. “Oh, damn. Hope that’s not critical.” He swiped at the glob of melted cheddar that had dripped down into its cover.

Peter snatched the folder away to dab at the spot of grease left behind and frowned slightly but made no comment. He simply shook his head before setting the folder to the side.

 

“It’s just some work, old problems without solutions.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Wade chewed thoughtfully. “That sucks. Me, I never had those kinds of issues. Well, back when I was gainfully employed that is.” He mimed a gun with his finger, aiming it just over Peter’s shoulder and pretending to fire at the kitchen cabinet. “Any job you could walk away from, counted as a success. Well, assuming I got paid after. You wouldn’t believe the number of criminals who thought they could skip out on the bill after they made me do their dirty work.” He snorted.

 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I was happy to light up a warehouse of stolen goods or blow a hole through the ringleader of a human trafficking operation but not necessarily for _free_. Bullets cost money you know. And I could go through a lot of bullets.”

 

_Wolverine was lucky, he probably didn’t even have to get his claws sharpened._

 

**‘Blah, blah, blah. Grace and skill of the blade. Get yourself a sword kid.’**

 

“Well and I listened to him didn’t I? Got myself a sweet pair of katanas!”

 

“Sorry? Listened to who?”

 

Wade looked up from his sandwich to find Peter staring back at him, head tilted at that slight angle that he’d learned meant he was trying to puzzle something out.

 

“Oh uh. My friend Logan. Had a lot of opinions when it came to how to handle the uh- wetwork.”

At the sound of the name, Peter perked up immediately. “Logan? You mean the Wolverine? Did you know him?”

 

“Well for starters, he dropped the ‘the’ pretty early on in his career,” Wade drolled on. “Smart move too, better for the brand. Nobody would log in to ‘the Facebook’ or use ‘the Google’. Nobody cool anyway. Just ‘Wolverine’. Short and to the point- like the man himself. Emphasis on the _point._ ”

 

Peter took a sip of his coffee, sputtering and grimacing when it touched his lips, icy cold and stale.

 

“Oh that… that’s foul.” He set the cup back down next to his folder, glancing at it for a moment before turning his attention back to Wade.

 

“You sound like you knew him fairly well then?”

 

“We had our encounters off and on, mostly off. For some reason he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Probably reminded him of things he’d rather not be reminded of.”

 

_It went both ways._

 

**You’d think the guy would wanna talk hockey or talk about cool stuff, not get all moody and gripe about you know what and you know where.**

 

“Yeah well, Weapon-X wasn’t exactly a resort,” Wade grumbled. “Not sure who had a worse time of it. That wasn’t a pissing contest anyone could win, really. The way I figure, anyone who came out with only mild to moderate mental scarring was one of the lucky ones.”

 

“And that included the two of you?” Peter asked.

 

“Well it’s not like we were roommates or anything,” Wade drawled on, showing the last of his sandwich in his mouth. “He was before my time anyway but… I guess they wanted to try and work out the kinks with the next round. Hah! Jokes on them, I’m a pretty twisted little crueller. Kinks included.” He gave Peter a knowing wink, causing the other man’s cheeks to redden slightly as he pretended to be very interested in the speckled pattern of the table.

 

“You alright there, Pete?”

 

A few moments fo silence passed, but eventually Peter regained his composure and nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips.

 

“Yes, yes of course.” He thumbed at the corner of his folder, glancing at it our of the corner of his eye. “I apologize for the line of questions, I realize it might have made you uncomfortable. But there are some things you can’t learn from a file.”

 

_That doesn’t sound suspicious at all._

 

“You keep talking about this file. _My_ file. I know Fury has a profile for basically every mutant and mutate and super that ever lived, for all the good it does now.” His eyes narrowed as he studied the man seated in front of him. Peter was fidgeting and unable to meet his gaze, even through the mask.

 

“My question is why? Why me? Why drag me out of that hell hole they called a holding facility and bring me here to this low budget ‘Friends’ reboot where we make sandwiches and watch T.V. and chat about the good old days?”

 

Wade’s fingers made a dull rapping sound against the table. The more he spoke aloud, the more he realized just how strange this situation was.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful… I just don’t understand.”

 

It was a few seconds before Peter made any move to answer, clearly considering his words, but that didn’t bother Wade. Clearly he was a very thoughtful man, and the two of them had nothing but time at their disposal.

 

“I’m sure you’ve figured out that I work for Fury. _With_ Fury. I… I’m not actually sure. Should have read the fine print, probably.”

 

“Ooh, rookie mistake,” Wade grinned. “I’ve seen a lot of contracts in my day and you always gotta read the fine print. Or don’t. It can be more fun that way. That’s how I met wife number five…. Or was it six?”

 

Peter laughed softly and for a moment Wade thought he might leave it at that, and he’d go another day left in the dark. But soon enough Peter regained that thoughtful look, and he could tell he was trying to best figure out how to explain things.

 

“I’ve been working on a project for them… or trying to anyway, for quite some time. But progress hasn’t been what any of us would like. They thought things might go more smoothly if I had a…” He pursed his lips before looking back to Wade, “a companion I suppose.”

 

“And they picked me?” Wade howled. “Pete, you got _shafted!_ Coulda shacked up with one of those sexy shape shifting mutants or something and instead you got-”

 

“No,” Peter interrupted calmly.

 

“Well it wouldn’t have to be a shapeshifter,” Wade mused. “Maybe someone who can imitate any sound, you could get them to re-enact the Beatles in your living room or something.”

 

“No, I mean, they didn’t choose you,” Peter explained. “I did.”

 

“Yikes, well I hope you kept the receipt,” Wade muttered. “All my special skills are more of the stabbing and un-aliving variety. I’m not even very good helping keep this place clean. Not exactly an ideal pick for a roomie”

 

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true.” Peter held Wade’s gaze for a moment longer before glancing back down at his work.

 

“Come again?”

 

“Oh you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” Peter smirked, rising from his seat, folder in hand.

Wade gasped. “Peter Parker you did not just make an _innuendo._ What would your parents think?”

 

“Dunno,” he shrugged before taking the last half of a sandwich from Wade’s plate. “Thanks for this.” With that, he turned and made his way back down the hall.

 

“I knew it!” Wade shouted after him. “You only wanted me for my delicious food!”

 

“Almost definitely!” Peter called back, disappearing through his office door.

 

Shaking his head and allowing himself a brief smile, Wade took his plate, and placed it in the sink.


	4. Chapter 4

“Yeah, Nessa sure was something else. Never at a loss for an absolutely scathing burn and an ass that wouldn’t quit. Which, y’know, was just as well since it was part of the job.”

 

Peter chuckled but didn’t look up from where he was unpacking the latest delivery of groceries.It was the same as usual for the most part, a variety of dried and canned goods, several bags of frozen vegetables and parcels of meat all efficiently packed with dry ice. There were a few new additions to this week’s bundle, however. Wade had asked about acquiring some fresh chiles and tomatillos, as well as swapping out Peter’s usual dried lentils for pinto beans.

 

He didn’t know where the food came from. Peter never left the apartment, even though as far as Wade could tell he was free to do so. The boxes, along with other various supplies and daily necessities, showed up at regular intervals with carefully printed checklists and slim folders of documents. Peter wasn’t particularly guarded about their contents, and Wade; unable to curb his curiosity, had peered inside one a few weeks in. It contained only a few dry news bulletins about the outside world, updates from the CDC which was to say no real information at all besides the usual reminders and lists of precautions.

 

If Peter had noticed the open folder on the counter, he’d said nothing of it.

 

“Sounds like you two were pretty serious. You never bought a ring or anything?”

 

“Sure I did,” Wade answered, shelving a box of cereal. “Massive thing. Fourteen grams!”

 

Peter’s brow furrowed. “You mean carats, certainly?”

 

“Never seen anyone measure candy by the carat Pete. ‘Cept maybe rock candy. Hey, did you know whenever they used to show meth on TV that’s all it was? Just big hunks of rock candy? Cotton candy flavor! You think anyone ever tried to slip some of that stuff by a dealer? Sure would be a quick way to end up dead. Quicker than most, anyway.”

 

“I uh… I wouldn’t know.” Peter shugged. “All of my experience with drugs have been with the legal… you know, prescription variety.”

 

“Hey, me too,” Wade nodded. “Well, technically legal. Maybe not in the quantities I was taking. But that’s where the whole double-edged sword part of the healing factor comes in. Keeps you from dying. Doesn’t keep you from hurting.”

 

“No,” Peter said quietly, looking up from the box. “No I suppose not.”

 

Wade chose not to meet his gaze.

 

“Does it… the scars, I mean. Do they still hurt?”

 

“Comes and goes,” he admitted. “Some days it’s better than others. Having access to clean clothes and hot water certainly helps. It’s not the same as the meds, and nothing was a  permanent fix, but it’s a damn sight better than what I was used to in the camps.”

 

Peter made a small sound of assent, but said nothing else as the two of them finished putting away the food. Wade assumed the matter was forgotten.

 

The following week, the shipment of food was much the same, Peter now a fan of Wade’s “Enchilada Surprise” and wanting to encourage him to cook his specialty as often as possible.

 

The two orange bottles found their way to the bedside table of Wade’s room.

 

* * *

 

 

Wade didn’t have much interest in watching television, finding the news unpleasant and for the most part, unchanging. The sitcoms (largely reruns) were uninspiring, their tired punchlines and canned laughter seeming somewhat macabre after everything. It was easier to retreat into the world of movies. Peter’s collection was perhaps a little more high-brow than the one he remembered having in his own apartment, but he’d never turn his nose up at a good sci-fi flick. After all, the only thing better than explosions was explosions in space.

 

“Would it really be easier to teach oil drillers to become astronauts than astronauts how to drill?”

 

“Uh…” Peter looked up from his laptop where he’d been pecking away at the same meaningless graphs for the past hour. “”N-no. I don’t imagine so. Though by that logic it should be a breeze to teach someone like me to… I don’t know, be a short order cook? As opposed to teaching the guy behind the counter at IHOP to uh-”

 

“Well that’s where you’re wrong, Petey!” Wade turned around, slinging his arm over the back of the sofa. “Being a short order cook is just about the most demanding job you can have. You have to have every recipe memorized, gotta have impeccable timing, gotta be able to accomodate special orders and know how to hit that sweet spot with the eggs so the insides are just the right amount of runny without letting the bacon burn.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Are you speaking from experience?”

 

“This sweet ass has seen more than one kind of battlefield, if that’s what you’re asking.” He turned back to the television just in time to see Bruce Willis storm away from a team of bewildered scientists.

 

“That’s right,” Peter glanced back at his screen. “I forgot you were in the military.”

 

A soft hum came from the sofa. “Not for too long. Any idiot can point and shoot but it takes a real Grade-A nimrod to follow blindly, pull the trigger without ever asking why.”

 

“Weren’t you a mercenary?”

 

“That’s what the file says, isn’t it?” Wade didn’t turn around.

 

It was. But it wasnothing more than a job description followed by dates and a number too large for Peter to think about comfortably.

 

“I can’t learn everything about you from a file.” He closed his computer and rises from the table, finding a seat on the sofa with Wade, leaving a respectable distance between them. “All that’s in there are names, dates, locations. Nothing about what really happened. And I may be a real dummy in my own right, but I still like to know the how and why.”

 

Wade rolled his head to the side until his ear was pressed hard against the cushion and he could just about see Peter’s face through the unkempt strands of hair that never seem to stay in place. He was being an ass and he knew it, but he wanted to learn about Peter as well, and testing the waters like this was as good a way as any.

 

“What your precious files probably fail to mention,” he ran his tongue hard over his teeth, letting it rest for a second in the hollow of his cheek before he released it with a lingering smack. “Is that I was very particular about the contracts I took on.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of money to be made bumping off scummy drug lords and corrupt politicians. Business was good, and that’s all it ever was, business. Paid for the bullets that went in my guns and the pills that went down my throat while leaving me enough to buy the occasional birthday gift for-”

 

He stopped short, tongue and teeth suddenly dry.

 

“Anyway. You never seem to get credit for offing the bad guys if you happen to collect a check at the end of the day.” Wade sighed, his shoulders rolling forward. “Wasn’t even really earning that much towards the end of things. Seemed wrong… or _more_ wrong somehow. Nobody needed help unaliving people anymore anyway.”

 

“The world didn’t need anymore killers. It needed more heroes. And fuck if they weren’t getting harder and harder to find.”

 

There was a soft creak as Peter leaned forward, fingers knit together as his hands fell between his knees.

 

“You started trying to help people.”

 

“I wasn’t… you know, never was one of the greats. The real heroes. Captain America or Iron Man or anyone like that. Can’t fly or change the weather or shoot webs out of my butt-”

 

Peter laughed at that, failing to stifle it under a cough. Wade frowned, but this was the first time anyone had ever asked him about, well, himself. He wasn’t about to miss his chance to unload his baggage like a hustler with a trunk full of stolen stereos.

 

“Point is, Pete, I only have one real skill and that’s not dying. But since that seemed to be what the people needed, that’s what they got. My last year on the outside was mostly spent on escort missions or making supply drops in areas where any sensible person wouldn’t set foot. Badlands. Quarantine zones.”

 

“And that’s when you were captured.”

 

It wasn’t a question. That bit of data had been well documented.

 

“No good deed, right?” Wade laughed but there was hardly any wind behind it. “Honestly surprised it took them that long.”

 

Peter rubbed at his neck a few times before letting his hand trail up the line of his jaw. How long had it been since he’d shaved?

 

“You must have been upset,” he ventured. “Some amount of righteous anger, surely. Being imprisoned only after trying to make a change for the better?”

 

Wade was silent for half a minute, weighing the right answer against the truth before deciding which one he wants to hand over. In the end he decided to get some answers of his own.

 

“Yeah… yeah I guess I was. Pissed as hell. They thought I was spreading the damn thing, me! As if I even could. But that didn’t matter to the suits, they just rounded up all the mutants, mutates, martians, whatever. Threw them all in a pit and let them rot. And yours truly was there for the long haul. The only way out was in a body bag and they never seemed to carry my size.”

 

He was no longer in his seat, one knee bearing down hard in the cushions, fingers gripping the fabric tight as he leaned over, well past the boundaries of Peter’s personal space. Peter didn’t look away so it wasn’t long before the two are eye to eye, noses nearly touching.

 

Four days. It’s been four days since Peter has shaved.

 

“Aren’t you worried Peter? Aren’t you _afraid?_ ”

 

There was no answer, but the corners of Peter’s eyes tensed for a fraction of a second.

 

“Don’t you ever think I might snap? Might take out all that pent up frustration on you? I’ve never needed a weapon to kill a man, but you haven’t exactly been careful here. Kitchen is full of knives, there’s the curtain rod in the bathroom, hell even a snapped DVD can be lethal.” He made a show of dragging a finger across his neck. “I could kill you if I wanted. Any time. And Fury and his little ragtag super squad wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

 

If Wade was expecting Peter to look away, he found himself disappointed.

 

“I don’t doubt that you could, Wade.” He answered quietly, so softly it was hard to hear over the movie, which has entered the full-on rapid explosion portion of the story.

 

“I just don’t think you will.”

 

Aerosmith had started crooning over the roll of the credits credits by the time Wade finally pulled back, finding his old spot on the sofa has gone cold. He huffed a short laugh to himself, nodding as he settle back in.

 

“Guess you’ve got me just about figured out then, Pete.” A crooked grin made a brief show across his features. A brief, but heartfelt apology.

 

“Not at all Wade.” There was another creak of springs, and the soft thud of feet finding their way to rest on the coffee table before the next movie is begun.

“Not at all.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Scotland… that’s a long ways away. I’m guessing you didn’t get to visit her much.”

 

“No, but I wasn’t exactly around a lot before everything went to hell, so it seemed like a small price to pay.” 

 

Wade leaned back into the sofa, taking a long sip of his drink. Though he’d grown a preference for adding sugar and even cream in the past, it now seemed criminal to taint his coffee (yes, real coffee) with anything extra. 

 

**Aw. I guess this means no “I like my men how I like my coffee” jokes then.**

 

_ What, “Hot, liquified and with a spoon in them”? _

 

**You ruin everything, you know.**

 

Wade closed his eyes tightly, doing his best to think over the ongoing commentary, doing his best to continue speaking to Peter without revealing the full extent of his particular brand of insanity. Things had been going alarmingly well over the last several weeks, and the occasional bout of boredom and cabin fever were far preferable to the literal torture and numbing fatigue of the camps. 

 

“How old was she? The last time you saw her?” Peter’s own drink had grown cold, mostly forgotten as he focused on Wade with a soft but unwavering expression of complete interest. 

 

Wade had to pause and think it over. Time had lost most of its meaning when he was underground, Even here in this liminal space of Peter’s apartment, it was easy to lose track of the days.

 

“She would have been eleven. Guess that makes her about fifteen now. Used to think maybe when she got to be about this age I’d pop in from time to time. Scare the living daylights out of any guys that looked like they might get a little too fresh, although knowing my Ellie, she’d have no problem telling them off herself.”

 

He sighed, putting down his empty cup, brow furrowed as he tried to remember the details of her face, knowing it would have changed by now. How much taller was she? Had she cut her hair? Did she look like-

 

“You gotta understand, I barely knew her mother. She was a sweet girl, but what happened between us… it wasn’t… I mean... and then Ellie… she was...was a…” The words died as Wade’s mouth grew dry. 

 

“She was a miracle.”

 

A delicate sort of silence hung in the air for a few moments before Peter finally reached over, covering Wade’s hand with his own.

 

“You must miss her a lot.”

 

“...Every day.” He looked down at where there hands met, careful not to move as he took a moment to study the texture of Peter’s hands, elegant fingers unmarred aside from a few odd calluses Wade assumed he’d acquired from prolonged use of high tech tools and machinery.

 

“In the end, the best thing for Ellie turned out to be the best thing for everyone else. I had to get her far away. From this mess. From  _ me. _ ”

 

“You did everything you could,” Peter’s hand tightened around his for a moment, before he finally released him, settling back into his seat. “It’s not easy for a parent to leave a child behind,” he spoke quietly, but with a steely determination behind his voice. “Even when it’s for their own good. Even when they don’t have a choice.” 

 

He added nothing else to that, leaving Wade to wondering in silence about what personal experience informed his words. Peter appeared not to be looking at him anymore, but hint of a red ring circling his eyes spoke of something more than mere tiredness. It seemed best not to mention it for now.

 

“Yeah… I hope she gets that. Not that I was ever a great dad but,” he cleared his throat, pretended to take another sip from his empty cup. “I just wanted to do right by her.”

 

Peter finally looked back at him, weariness weighing at his boyish features, though it only served to make him look like some sort of distant genius rather than a tired old man. He nodded at Wade before pulling himself to his feet at last.

 

“She knows, Wade. And I’m sure she’s proud of you.” He placed a hand on Wade’s shoulder, squeezing lightly before excusing himself to his office, mumbling something about work. Wade saw no need to argue.

 

* * *

 

  
  


**I’m just saying, if a song has “Sunshine” in the title, there’s a good chance it’s going to be a total bummer**

.

_ That’s not true! “Walking on Sunshine”? _

 

**Yeah? What about “Ain’t No Sunshine”?**

 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” Wade hummed under his breath, catching himself just in time. He preferred not to take sides when he could avoid it. He was actually in a good mood today, despite the grey skies and hammering rain outside. While Peter had been scarce since their last talk, he didn’t take it personally, assuming that whatever it was the man was working through, he’d bring it up when he was ready.

 

The two of them hadn’t talked much about Peter’s past. It wasn’t that he avoided Wade’s questions, but he was careful with his words, never giving away more than exactly what he meant to. It didn’t exactly escape Wade’s notice, but he knew what it was like to have things you wanted to hide. Whether it was a child of his own, or some past criminal activity that had put him on SHIELD’s watchlist, he trusted that Peter would talk to him about it when he was ready.

 

He trusted Peter.

 

And that in itself was rare enough to keep the clouds at bay.

 

He’d taken the initiative and made some popcorn with extra butter for a movie night. Even though Peter always made gagging sounds and complained about how greasy it made his hands, he never seemed to have any problem polishing off the bowl. But it seemed that tonight, like so many nights, he’d lost track of time.

 

“Hey, Pete!” Wade called out, rapping his knuckles on the door. “Quittin’ time. Come on out while the popcorn is hot!”

 

Without thinking, he reached for the door handle, finding it slid open without any resistance at all, causing him to nearly trip and spill some of the precious snack onto the bright white of the tiled floor.

 

_ That’s strange… _

 

**What a weird office… glass… tile… so sterile… makes me think of…**

 

“Wade!”

 

Peter shot up from the stool where he’d been sitting, casting something down on his table with  metallic thunk.

“You aren’t supposed to… I mean you shouldn’t have…. I… I was going to be right out as soon as I finished…”

 

“Pete?” Wade’s voice wavered, “What are you doing? What… what is that?”

 

He couldn’t focus on anyone thing in the too bright light of the office- no,  _ laboratory _ he’d stumbled into, but the shelf of chemicals, the gleam of metal tools behind glass, even the white coat Peter was wearing, sent him stumbling backwards, the plastic bowl falling to the floor.

 

**Not good. Very bad. Very bad. Bad. Bad. Retreat. NOW.**

 

_ Where, exactly? _

 

“Nowhere to run…” Wade could barely get the words out, his breaths were dry and shallow. It was then that he saw what Peter had been working on, some kind of metal cuff, crammed full of diodes and wires. 

 

_ Three guesses what that’s for. _

 

**And the first two don’t count.**

 

“N-no,” Wade stumbled back even as Peter reached out to him. “Not you… won’t let you… strap… strap me down… won’t let you…” He turned and ran down the hall, head full of voices screaming at him to escape, knowing beyond hope that he was trapped, soon to be strapped down, sliced open, picked apart in the name of research, or perhaps just cruel curiosity.

 

“Wade, stop! You don’t understand!” Peter was out in the hallway in a flash, but Wade had already toppled over the sofa and closed in on the main window of the living room, trembling hands scrabbling at the glass.

 

“Understand just fine, Pete. Understand a lot more than you think,” the words could barely be found beneath the guttural growl. “Understand what it’s like to have needles jammed in my arm, my neck, my fuckin’ eyeballs…” A shaking fist slammed into the glass, making the whole wall tremble without leaving so much as a crack behind. “Arms and legs cut off… blood drained…” He tried again, the force making a spike of pain shoot up his arm and shoulder.

 

“Wade! It isn’t like that!”

 

“Worst part is, you made me trust you. Made me _like_ you!” Wade began pounding his head against the window until his teeth rattled, and he came away from the glass feeling sticky and red. “What the hell was the point of that? You write it all down in your notes?” He slammed his hand against the glass again, feeling bones begin to splinter. “Take it all down in your report?”

He turned for just a second, just long enough to catch a glimpse of him standing there chock clear on his face.

 

“Well, you can sure as hell stick this in that damn file of yours.” He slammed his head into the window again, over and over, Peter’s desperate calls lost beneath the pounding of blood in his ears. A flash of bright white flickered before his eyes- lightning or a fissure in the glass, he never found out but he chased after it with another attempt and another.

 

And then all of a sudden the glass fell away from him, raw and gory streaks growing distant as he fell back onto the floor. 

 

No, he hadn’t fallen, he’d been pulled. 

 

It was only then he realized his arms and legs were restrained and even his most desperate efforts couldn’t free him. He glared up at Peter, teeth bared, tears making tracks in the blood covering his face. 

 

He’d expected him to be angry. To pull out a needle of sedatives. To call Fury to take him away.

 

And yet Peter only stood there, nervously searching for words as his fingers wounds tightly around that cursed metal cuff Wade had found him working on just moments before. Whatever was binding Wade now, it seemed to have shot out of the device like some kind of glue or thread.

 

_ Or web? _

 

“No… no it’s can’t be.” He coughed out a sickly laugh. “You can’t be… He’s dead. He died. He’s gone…”

 

“Wade…”

 

“No more heroes…”

 

“Wade, please.”

 

“No more Spider-Man!” Wade shouted from the ground, loud enough to make Peter pause before kneeling beside him.

 

“You’ve really hurt yourself,” he said quietly, pulling tissues from his coat pocket to wipe away the worst of the blood. “Just… just breathe. It’s going to be okay. I… I promise. Good guy, remember?”

 

Wade snorted, but it was quickly lost as he shoulders began to shake with silent sobs.

 

“Wade,” Peter began again, his voice gentle but firm as he started to take apart the webs binding Wade’s arms. “We have a lot to discuss.”

 

“Fucking right we do…” he spat as soon as he was free, pulling away from Peter, his legs up tight against his chest.

 

Peter sighed and nodded. An outburst had clearly not been outside the realm of possibility, but at least now they could get to the matter he’d been dancing around for weeks.

 

“I… I shouldn’t have kept this from you for so long, but now it’s time to talk. About Spider-Man. About Wolverine and the mutants. About SHIELD.”

 

He searched Wade’s face, waiting until the familiar blue eyes flickered his way for a fraction of a second.

 

“We need to talk about Legacy.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy look at that, a new chapter and it hasn't even been two weeks! That's what your encouragement and sweet comments can do for a soul. Thank you so much to everyone who has left kind words. We're coming in for quite a lot of development with this one!

 

 

“Here, drink this. Small sips.”

 

Wade eyed the offered glass of water warily, mouth too heavy, tongue too leaden to reply. He dragged his gaze back to Peter’s face, which was looking down at him with a nervous earnestness that didn’t seem out of place at all on his still youthful features. Slowly, he reached for the glass with his good hand, fingers brushing over Peter’s as the other man waited for him to have a secure handle on it before finally pulling away.

 

“You really did a number on yourself,” Peter said quietly, immediately busying himself with the rolls of gauze and bottles of disinfectant he’d produced from under the bathroom sink. “Managed to crack the glass a little. I suppose it goes to show what you can accomplish when you put your mind to it.”

 

There was a brief gagging sound as Wade spit some of the water back into the glass, staring at Peter in disbelief.

 

“Puns? Now?” He croaked. “Really?”

 

“Gotta stay true to my brand,” Peter answered, reaching out to wipe off the worst of the blood from Wade’s brow. He stilled for a second, giving Wade a chance to pull away, but his eyes found only tense resolution in the man’s face.

 

His touch was light as he worked, dabbing gently at the cuts that were already starting to heal, though perhaps not as quickly as they once may have. The cloth came away pink and eventually red in his hand, but he finished just as Wade drained the last of his drink.

 

Peter took the empty glass, setting it aside as Wade turned his attention to the room they were sitting in. Even though he’d occupied it for weeks now, it was like he was seeing it with new eyes, finally attaching meaning to the details he’d filed away in the hopes of making sense of them later.

 

“This was your room,” he stated plainly. It seemed obvious, now that he knew what to look for. The walls full on pinholes where posters had once hung.  The worn desk a veteran of a thousand all-nighters.  Faded circles on the bedside table the ghosts of cups of coffee from years past.

 

Peter nodded, shrugging his shoulders a little as he looked around, his eyes replacing the personal effects he’d removed when preparing for the new arrival.

 

“This has been my apartment since… since before,” he answered quietly. “Fury offered to put me somewhere else when they were working on arrangements for your delivery, but I asked to stay. I guess… I don’t know… it’s been my home for so long. It’s nice to have at least one constant. Especially now.”

 

“So this Junior High science teacher vibe you’ve got going… it’s not an act? You’re really-”

 

“A big nerd? Afraid so.” He took a seat next to Wade on the bed, letting his hands fall loosely between his knees. “Ever since I was a kid, really. It’s kind of how I got into the whole, well-” he made a lazy gesture, shooting imaginary webs at the wall.

 

“I made these,” he turned the cuff over in his hands, and Wade recognized them for what they were. The famous web shooters, though they had clearly gone through several upgrades since he last saw them. “Not long after getting my powers. And yes, I was on a science field trip when the spider bit me, so that’s worth another ten nerd points at least.”

 

A single huff of amusement was the only response.

 

“Even during my years as Spider-Man, I was still heavily involved in research. Genetics, bio-chemistry, engineering on a small scale, basically anything I could get my hands on.”

 

He exhaled deeply before continuing. “When I was younger, I was smaller than most. Weak. The kind of kid who got shoved in lockers most days at school. And I guess science was a sanctuary from all that. A place where I could be better than other people for a change.”

 

“I mean, sure. A lot of it was just that I liked having a place where I could feel superior to the other kids, but as I got into it and started to see the potential there, I became more convinced that the key to improving the world was through science.”

 

“And maybe there was the hope that someday, in this theoretical idealistic world, being the shrimpy little nothing of a loser wouldn’t matter so much.”

 

A faint sort of grin pulled at the edges of Wade’s lips despite himself. It was so utterly unsurprising somehow, the charming naivety of it all, the boy scoutish do-goodery that was at the core of everything that was Spider-Man. If Spider-Man was going to be anybody (and of course, he had to be _somebody_ ) he couldn’t have been a man like Tony Stark or Clint Barton or even Hank Pym, although he did have the science angle and bug motif ready to go.

 

“Of course that changed when I woke up one morning with super strength. Interesting how that kind of thing can change your perspective when you’re a stupid teenager,” Peter laughed sadly.

 

“I don’t know about that. I know plenty of stupid adults.”

 

Peter made a low groan, deciding not to press for details, lest he find out he was included in that number. “The point is,” he continued, “I ended up losing someone very close to me. And it was the worst moment in my life- but it also opened my eyes to the responsibility I’d been handed. Not to wait any longer for some imaginary better future that may or may not ever come, but to take things into my own hands and do everything I could to make it real. And from that moment on, I poured every ounce of my being into trying to do just that.”

 

“You did.” The words were spoken before Wade realized he’d even opened his mouth. “You made things better. For your city, and… and for the rest of the world.” He swallowed, looking at the empty spaces on the wall.

 

“And for me.”

 

Peter gave him a tired smile, but pressed on. “But then the virus changed everything. You were right. The world didn’t need big damn heroes to punch their problems away. It didn’t need Spider-Man. It needed-”

 

“It needed Peter Parker,” Wade finished. He finally allowed his eyes to rest on the man beside him, so world weary and yet full of desperate hope and determination. How had he never seen it before?

 

“I know it was cowardly of me,” Peter mumbled. “To go to Fury, to reveal myself and ask for protection but-” His brow furrowed, unbidden images from the news and SHIELD reports replaying themselves in his mind. Grey faces lined up as they were fed into soulless containment camps. “I couldn’t do anything from behind bars. You… you know first hand what it’s like in those places. At least here, I had some chance of helping. Of making a difference.”

 

The room grew silent and Wade was left wondering why Peter had decided to tell him all of this. It would have been enough to explain that he had been Spider-Man once upon a time, and had gone into hiding once the camps started filling up. He honestly wouldn’t have blamed him. There was just one thing he didn’t understand.

 

“Peter,” he held onto the question for a few seconds, not sure if he’d like the answer. “Why am I here?”

 

The other man’s eyes flickered to the doorway, and Wade knew he was thinking of the workspace across the hall.

 

**Don’t call it a lab. Don’t call it a lab.**

 

_Don’t think about the white tile. Don’t think about the bright lights. Don’t think about the glowing screens and the slicing blades…_

 

**I don’t remember any blades…**

 

_It’s a lab! There’s going to be shiny slicing knives and scalpels and needles and blood and guts and…_

 

**Don’t call it a lab!**

 

“Wade?”

 

It took him a few seconds to realize Peter was standing in front of him, offering him one of the slim folders he’d seen the man poring over for hours at a time. When had to gone to retrieve it? He finally accepted it, his eyes scanning over the documents, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was meant to glean from their pages.

 

“Wolverine… Weapon-X…” all too familiar, and yet he was no closer to understanding why Peter was bringing them up now.

 

“It took a lot of time and research, but once we knew how the virus worked, and what kind of genetic markers it was originally designed to target, it suddenly became clear where we had to look for answers,” Peter explained.

 

“Legacy was designed to zero in on mutant DNA. To keep cells from regenerating so the host eventually died when their cells lost their natural ability to replenish itself. Like a healing factor turned inside out. Someone’s bright idea to take care of “The Mutant Menace” once and for all.” Even as he spoke the words, Peter could taste the poison of their hatred on his tongue.

 

“Maybe it was their twisted sense of irony, using the genetic material of a mutant to create a disease meant to wipe them out. And if I’m being honest? We should have seen it coming. Logan has been captured, studied, mind wiped and rebooted so many times, it’s a wonder that every research facility in the country doesn’t have a sample of his DNA.”

 

“And you think if you were able to study his genes you might find the key to destroying the virus?” Wade frowned.

 

“Essentially, yes.”

 

“Then why isn’t he here? Why haven’t you dragged his hairy ass into your Spider Cave and made him give you blood samples or piss in a cup or whatever the hell it is you need from him? People are fucking dying out there and you’re just _sitting_ here-”

 

“Logan is gone.”

 

Wade froze, lips turned down in a harsh scowl. “What do you mean _gone?_ Logan’s not gone. He’s never _gone_.”

 

“I mean we can’t find him. We don’t know if he’s in an unregistered camp somewhere, or in hiding, or if he finally managed to die and leave all this behind, but for all intents and purposes he’s out of the picture.”

 

“So I’m…”

 

“Like I said before. I asked Fury to find you specifically.” He found his seat again on the bed next to Wade, but his gaze was fixed ahead of them both. “Your healing factor was borne from Logan’s. Twisted and amped up, to be sure, but at its core essentially the same. I thought maybe if I brought you here, explained my work, made a case you might-”

 

“Let you use me as your lab rat? Cut me open, lay me out? I guess you did have the decency to buy me dinner first,” he spat. “Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Petey. I’ve lived that life before and I’m not eager to get pureed and poured into a specimen cup ever agai-”

 

“It’s spreading.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s not just North America anymore. It’s reached full on plague levels here, but there are reports of incidents in South America. Parts of Asia. Europe.”

Wade’s eyes narrowed, daring the man to continue.

 

“...Scotland.”

 

Wade shot up with a snarl, not bothering to look back at Peter as he strode towards the door, teeth grating harshly against each other so hard he could feel it through his skull.

 

The flesh and bones of his hand had only just finished healing, but he rammed his fist into the door frame, uncaring, howling a wordless cry at the pointless cruelty of the world. Peter watched in silence, fingers of one hand sliding over the empty folder as his eyes drifted to its contents, splayed across the floor. He drew a breath, his mind scrambling to think of something to say, some words of comfort or hope to offer, but in the end it was Wade who spoke first.

 

“...Tell me what to do.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

“So this is the centrifuge. The little vials of blood fit in here like this, and then you can separate red blood cells from the plasma. It can help if I need to run isolated tests. This is a pretty small model, but it’s plenty big for my purposes.” Peter snapped the lid closed, hands shaking enough to rattle the small container of test tubes beside him.

 

“I guess those are self explanatory. A few different sizes depending on the test that needs to be run. They have little rubber stoppers so you can switch them out, that way you only have to prick once with the needle. Less pain that way.”

 

“Sure,” Wade snorted, eyes shifting down to the floor. “But I think the saying is “No pain, no gain”, isn’t it? At least that’s what the doctors said when they were cheerfully removing my arms and legs from the rest of me. Maybe if they’d put me in a big enough one of those things,” he bucked his chin towards the centrifuge,  “all my parts would have separated on their own. Saved them some trouble.”

 

“Wade…” Peter tried to catch his gaze. “We… we don’t have to do this, you know.”

 

“Yes, we do.” Wade straightened, finally looking Peter in the eye. “Now, tell me what that thing does.”

 

Peter nodded and continued going over some of the basic equipment in his workspace. Some of it was already familiar to Wade, who had had his fair share of destroying secret bases and laboratories in his life, not that any of the lab coated minions had ever taken the time to explain their work to him.

 

**Well, not anything beyond "MY GENIUS SHALL CHANGE THE WORLD!" anyway.**

 

_Honestly, it's like a massive ego is a job requirement for anyone trying to work in the sciences._

 

**Peter seems okay though. No maniacal laughter or mysterious bubbling vats of green goo. Seems wrong almost. Shouldn't be able to have a lab if you don't have at least some goo.**

 

_There's probably some hiding around here somewhere. We just haven't found it yet._

 

Wade's eyes scanned the room, but the side that wasn't crammed full of routine medical equipment housed only a few mundane items. A well worn sofa was pushed up against the far wall, a few fleece blankets and yesterday's tee-shirt thrown haphazardly over one arm and a small army of coffee cups flanked its sides, waiting from their hiding spots between stacks of research papers and files for a chance to attack.

 

It was impossible not to feel guilty. Peter had clearly given up his own room and taken up residence here in an effort to make Wade feel more comfortable. He could have chosen to sleep on the sofa in the living room, or even asked Fury to spring for bunk beds, but he'd opted to give Wade his space, to keep matters of work separate from the rest of their days together. The gesture wasn't lost on Wade, which was perhaps why he was giving Peter this chance in the first place.

 

If he was completely honest, the mess made him feel more at ease. Like he was in the workspace of a real human being rather than a shadowy government agency with a dubious moral code. He could focus on a a wrinkled pair of pants, and remind himself that laundry needed to be done. Or take his mind off things by looking at a discarded plate and remember the quesadillas they'd shared the night before. It kept him in the present, rather than falling backwards into the past.

 

"So for starters anyway, I'm going to need to take some blood, and maybe a few tissue samples," Peter continued. "I don't want to do any testing on you directly unless there's no other option."

 

Wade steeled himself, pulling a metal stool out from beneath the workstation and dropping himself onto it. "So, you got like, a scalpel or something? Some kind of razor?"

 

"Sorry? For what?"

 

"I'd prefer if you take it from my back. Shoulder maybe. That always heals up pretty quick. Not the face, if it's all the same. I know it's not much to look at, but it gets sore and makes it hard to chew for a day or two after."

 

"You expect me to cut you?"

 

"That's how you get samples, isn't it?" Wade retorted.

 

"N-no? I mean not typically. You do realize most medical procedures weren't developed with radical healing factors in mind? Here." Peter dug into a drawer and produced some Q-Tips. "Swab the inside of your cheek with these," he instructed.

 

Wade raised an eyebrow but did as he was instructed. "If you wanted to swap spit, there's easier ways of going about it, Pete."

 

"Yes, but I'm not interested in a contaminated sample," Peter laughed, taking the two sample from Wade and putting them away. "That was the easy part."

 

"Can't say that I'm a big fan of needles," Wade sighed, rolling up a sleeve. "But for you, I'll try to behave."

 

* * *

 

 

In the days that followed, Wade saw precious little of Peter outside his lab. The man took short meals in the kitchen, his nose always buried in the latest data readout. He'd stumble to the bathroom at odd hours and took brisk showers clearly meant to wake himself up rather than to ease any of the tension clearly visible in his shoulders. Wade felt exhausted just watching him, but he kept a pot of coffee hot at all times, a few simple meals ready in the fridge. Mostly he just tried to stay out of the way.

 

Peter Parker, it seemed, was a wholly different creature than heroic crime fighter Wade had idolized.  Wade couldn't imagine any reason why someone would want to stop being Spider-Man, but over time he slowly began to understand.

 

He'd never had a love of doctors, even before Weapon X. Even in the dim light of his childhood memories, they appeared only as faceless figures, hurrying by, flipping through endless pages on clipboards and charts. They frowned down at him, looked past him, spoke in garbled jargon he couldn't understand, leaving him to snatch words like "options" and "treatment" out of the air as he struggled for meaning. They shuttled his mother back and forth in chairs and on stretchers-

 

Until finally, they wheeled her away.

 

Objectively he knew that all scientists and doctors must have studied hard to earn the fancy plaques that sit framed on their wall. But Peter worked like a man with nothing else to live for. He could see it in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the faint tremble of his hand as he reached for a pen, the stutter in his voice as he asked Wade for another sample... and apologized every time.

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually Wade found himself camping in the doorway, watching Peter as often as he watches T.V. Peter seemed not to notice or mind, and Wade thought that at the very least, he'd be able to see if the man collapsed.

 

He left the television on, dialogue and canned laughter sifting down the hall and into Peter's room, where he'd started to spend more of his time. At first he'd just made an effort to clean up the place a little, washing the oldest of the cups and plates, whisking off clothing to be laundered. But soon he was bringing Peter more to drink, parking on the sofa with a book and letting his eyes skirt from the page to the man at work. In the odd hours when Peter finally crashed, nosediving into the couch and snoring softly, Wade found a place on the floor nearby, a silent sentinel.

 

It was only a matter of time before Wade broke the silence.

 

He hadn't meant to, had only planned on sitting in on Peter's marathon research sessions when he thought he could stand to be quiet for a few hours. But with little else to do besides watching the man work, he'd started to notice his tics and idiosyncrasies, namely that Peter talked to himself.

 

It wasn't the frantic muttering and arguing that Wade himself was privy to, just quiet mumbling under his breath, a way to sort out one question while he mind was already moving on to the next.

 

"Airborne... but rapid increase in infection rate after precautions were being taken... another method of spreading maybe... but that's the most easily communicated..."

 

"It was pretty stupid, when you think about it," Wade piped up.

 

Peter glanced up at him, blinking rapidly as though he wasn't sure he was being spoken to.

 

"I mean, once they figured out the virus had mutated... again that is, they kept rounding up the infected. And the potentially infected. Started cramming them all together in trains and trucks and dumping them at those camps." He ran a tongue over his teeth, sucking in lingering breath.

 

"I bet you anything that when they started only ten, twenty percent tops actually had the virus. But you cram the sick and the healthy together like that that... well by the time they got delivered that number was going to be a lot higher."

 

A few seconds of silence passed, Wade squirming a little under the intensity of Peter's stare.

 

"You... you were there." The words rushed out of Peter's lungs in a single sigh. "You saw everything."

 

"Well, I dunno about _everything_. I'm no peeping Tom, but yeah. I ended up hanging around the camps longer than most on account of not being able to die, so I... I saw a lot."

 

"I... I don't know why I didn't think... I mean... you were _there!_ " Peter nearly shouted, stumbling as he tried to rise from his seat.

 

"Peter?"

 

"It's just... I'm sorry. I spent so long hoping to convince you to... you know, thinking that if I was able to explain things to you, you'd be willing to let me use some of your samples for my work. But.... but I was so stupid! I mean, _you were there!_ "

 

"Peter, you're starting to lose me..."

 

Peter shook his head, digging his palms into his eyes in an effort to banish his fatigue. "Sorry. I'm a little... it's been a long couple of days."

 

"And nights," Wade supplied.

 

"Yeah, guess so." He took a deep breath, calming his nerves and giving him a few seconds to regroup before starting again. "I've been so focused on the virus itself, the strain and its attributes, how it interacts with the body on a cellular level. And I've been able to make a lot of progress, thanks to you."

 

"But I forgot... there's a bigger picture. Knowing how a disease behaves when it's out in the world, how it affects groups under different circumstances. What symptoms are the first to show or how warning signs vary from case to case." He looked up at Wade, tired eyes retaining a hint of their usual shine.

 

"There's nobody out there doing field work. It's too risky, and there aren't many groups willing to support it. I had to beg Fury to let me start this operation, and even then it was hard won. But you... Wade..."

 

"I was there."

 

"Yes! You saw things, you can tell me what you witnessed, what you learned. You can help me. You're so much more than a sample in a tube, you're a first hand witness to what's been happening. Your knowledge in these matters would be invaluable to my studies."

 

Wade took a moment, letting his eyes trail across the room. Peter's dishes. Peter's clothing. Peter's books and blankets.

 

"Don't really like thinking about it... wasn't exactly the happiest place on Earth. I saw a lot, and none of it was pretty. Just a lot of pain and misery."

 

"Please, Wade." Peter's hand shifted slowly to cover his own. "I know it isn't easy, but this could be a big help. If there's anything you can tell me I want to hear it." He managed a sheepish and weary grin. "For science?"

 

Wade returned Peter's smile with one of his own, but shook his head. "Nah." He turned his hand slowly, until his palm was just brushing against Peter's, and his fingers could gently curl around the back of his hand.

 

"Not for science," he murmured.

 

"For you."


	8. Chapter 8

"The worst part of it was the kids. It didn't always hit them first, but when it did, it hit them hard."

 

"That makes sense..." Peter agreed, but continued to shake his head as he started scribbling down notes. "Let me guess, the babies and tweens were most susceptible?"

 

"How'd you know about that?"

 

"Average age for the most significant growth spurts are for infants under a year, and children at the onset of puberty. They'd be most affected if their cells suddenly stopped replicating. A gradual cell death might take ages to notice in an adult, but for someone that young it could prove fatal much more quickly."

 

Wade grumbled, low and unsettled. This kind of talk gave him an unpleasant sort of itch across his scalp and neck.

 

_Can we change the subject?_

 

**Maybe Peter wants to poke us with that needle again! Collect some blood in those little tubes.**

 

_Better in tubes than on the floor..._

 

**Ha, yeah! Remember when that little girl yakked so hard it started turning pink? She started crying but her mom was passed out on the floor. She was so upset she forgot to scream when we came over to talk to her!**

 

"Could we not do this right now?" Wade growled, fingers digging into the skin just below his ear.

 

Peter looked up sharply, but it became clear that he was not the one being addressed, so he opted to let the comment pass.

 

"She wasn't sick when she came in," Wade mumbled, no longer to himself. "Her mom got carted into the camp because her neighbor called in, said she'd been exhibiting symptoms. They scooped up the girl as well."

 

For a moment, there was no sound but the hum of Peter's computer, the faint creak of his desk chair, and the groan of tired sofa springs as the young man took a seat.

 

"Did you know her well?"

 

A strained laugh died in Wade's chest. "They weren't there long enough to get to know. The mom looked half gone when they dragged her in. Coulda been the virus. Coulda been the flu. Not like anyone bothered to check. And the kid... so small they had to pad the inhibitor collar with rags to keep it from slipping off. They didn't have money for medical treatment or better accomodations in the cells but they had money to keep buying those damn things." He glared at the ground, trying not to remember her face. "Don't even think she was a mutant anyway."

 

"They were detaining them indiscriminately? Children? Families?" Peter gaped, but Wade could only shake his head. He would have found the man's shock almost charming if he hadn't had to witness the scene himself.

 

"Fear goes a long way towards motivating people. And most of the time, if it comes down to risking their own neck versus making sure they follow every procedure to the letter, well, they'd rather make sure they're around to fill out the paperwork tomorrow."

 

Peter's fingers tensed and flexed just beyond the edges of his labcoat, its sleeves no longer pristine and white. Wade had always remembered the starched creases and pressed pockets of the coats on the men and women who were always shuffling around him, almost blinding, reflecting the harsh flourescent light of the room down onto his table. Their cold stares and dismissive frowns practically floated above collars so stiff Wade sometimes imagined they were made of stone. Harsh, unfeeling figures and gargoyles gazing down at him with disinterest as he howled out for countless, stretching hours.

 

But Peter's jacket was nearing filthy. Rainspots of coffee littered it's length; a smear of ink ran across one wrist, stuttering briefly down one side before a solid blotch revealed where the pen had come to rest.

 

Wade should have offered to wash it, but a part of him liked the small reminder that he was in the company of a real person. Someone who saw him as more than a lab rat or experiment. Someone who recognized his experiences as valuable to their cause.

 

Someone who cared.

 

* * *

 

 

"I think... I'm getting closer. To... to something." Peter's hand trembled slightly as he reached out for the latest pot of coffee before Wade took it on himself to pour a cup and hand it over.

 

"Closer? To a cure?"

 

A few seconds passed as Peter drained his cup slowly, each swallow a deliberate bide for time as he weighed his next words carefully.

 

"Maybe. It's nothing definite, and it may not amount to anything in the end but..." he looked up at Wade, "It might be a start."

 

Wade immediately looked from Peter's face to his desk, to the various bits of machinery in the room, as though any one of them might have a giant light up display reading "THE CURE" in neon letters.

_Ooh, "Friday I'm in Love"!_

 

**Are you kidding? More like, "Just Like Heaven"!**

 

_You think Heaven is like being locked up in a two bedroom apartment in New York?_

 

**With a cutie like Peter? Maybe.**

 

 

"What do you need?"

 

"Time, mostly." Peter sighed. "But we don't have a lot of it. The last reports I got from Fury were... grim, to say the least. You were right about officials at the quarrantine borders not being particularly judicious about who they threw into the camps. At least we might have been able to help put a stop to that."

 

"Leave it to me then, Pete," Wade grinned with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "I'll be the quietest, most out of the way, non peep-making..."

 

"Actually, I'd rather you hang around." Peter's gaze skirted away. "If... if it's all the same. I know it's not your favorite place to be, but sometimes talking through things helps me get the shape of it and having someone here makes me feel less like I'm-"

 

"Say no more," Wade nodded, practically throwing himself back onto the sofa which groaned painfully under his weight. "So what are we talking here? Pills? Shots? Cherry flavored suppository? Ooh, can we make em shaped like cartoon characters? See if SHIELD will spring for the rights to Green Lantern!"

 

The soft sound of laughter filled the room as Peter pulled nervously at the frayed collar of his shirt. His next words came out stiffly, like a wary student's recital. He'd clearly done nothing but study and work to arrive at his findings, but the delivery of the information was proving to be a struggle.

 

"It isn't really clear who created the Legacy virus in the first place, or what purpose it was intended to serve. We only know that it was dropped into our timeline from the future by Stryfe, and that unchecked it had the ability to completely devastate the mutant population," Peter explained. This wasn't news, but it helped him gather his thoughts.

 

"Ugh, I hate that guy," Wade gagged. "If there's one thing worse than Cable, it's _two_ Cables."

 

Peter nodded, "You would be the expert. At any rate, it appears the virus managed to turn Logan's healing factor inside-out, as it were. Take the mutant gene responsible for allowing cells to regenerate at astonishing speeds, and instead invert it and create a virus that made otherwise healthy cells forget how to replenish themselves."

 

"While the effect was instantly noiceable in the mutant population, likely because of the high rate of healing factors as a baseline mutation, the virus eventually mutated itself, finding its way into the human population."

 

"Life..." Wade interrupted, "finds a way."

 

"Jurassic Park. Nice."

 

"People always make a big deal about how hot Jeff Goldblum was in that movie, but let me tell you, the remake of "The Fly" was peak J. G."

 

Peter snorted, "Maybe the first half."

 

"Eh, Diff'rent strokes."

 

It was Peter's turn to gag. "What, you mean you were into the grotesque bug transformation, with the slime and the legs and... the everything?"

 

"You weren't?"

 

"Maybe it hit a little too close to home," he mumbled.

 

"Fair enough," Wade agreed, leaning a little further back in his seat. "Maybe I've just got a soft spot for all those experiments gone awry. Although I can't believe we've been talking about that movie this long and we haven't even _mentioned_ Geena Davis! You wanna talk about H-O-T-T-"

 

"I can't believe we've been talking about that movie this long at all," Peter tried to stifle a laugh with mixed success. "Anyways, It seems like while it might not be possible to keep the virus from spreading, especially with the state of the containment centers, we're well past relying on prevention. We need a cure."

 

"Which means?"

 

"That we have to remind the cells how to repair and regrow all over again."

 

Wade grimmaced, unsure if he liked where this was leading.

 

"The good news is, the infected samples have been responding well to treatment. When the virus attempts to attack one of your cells, the cell regenerates too quickly for it to handle, eventually overloading the virus until it breaks down. Your cells then healed the original sample, and those cells continued replicating as normal."

 

"My samples... helped? They actually fixed something?" Wade's voice was small and hollow, but his eyes never left Peter's face as he searched for understanding. "But... surely they'd take over eventually, right? Destroy the host or worse, give them a big pile of... this?" He gestured vaguely towards himself, hand hovering a few inches from his face. "Not sure if it's worth the cost."

 

"Unchecked, that might be the case," Peter agreed. "But that's what I'm working on. Replicating your uniquely mutated cells artificially, an easier to control variety. I'm borrowing a little from you, and a little from Stark's nanotechnology. What we have is basically a form of organic molecular machine."

 

"So that means these micro-me's won't go bonkers and explode out of people's bodies?"

 

"Assuming the programming is correct, they should automatically dissipate harmlessly into the bloodstream after the original cells are repaired." Peter wasn't looking at him anymore, instead busying himself with the rim of his empty cup. "We'll know for sure after some human trials."

 

Wade's eyes widened. "Does that mean we're getting a new roommate? Sweet! I guess I can make room in my bunk if I have to share... especially if _you_ were the one getting cozy with me. But I think-"

 

"No."

 

The word was barely audible, almost eclipsed by the soft clink of ceramic against Peter's desk. Wade watched carefully and even though Peter's eyes didn't rise from the stack of papers and files that seemed to replicate without end, he couldn't quiet the suspicion that Peter was observing him in turn.

 

"Well, hell. You can let a guy down easy, you know? I was kidding anyway. I know you have that whole married-to-my-work-sleeps-in-the-office thing going. The newbie can sleep on the sofa," he chuffed.

 

"No, I mean... there isn't going to be a "newbie". It was hard enough getting you here, and I can't rightly expect Fury to go digging for test subject, even if I think he'd do it." His gaze traveled across an open file, the last one they'd received, albeit several weeks ago. "Although at this point, he might."

 

Wade tilted his head, studying Peter's face. He didn't seem upset, panicked, or even sad. There was only the tiniest hint of a crease at his brow, a teltale tremble of lips and waver of a shadow at the set of his jaw. He'd seen the look before, never on Peter, who thus far had approached every day of their cohabitation with determined resolution and what passed for optimism in this day and age.

 

The look on Peter's face was same one he'd seen on many an old soldier as they prepared to enter a battle they knew they wouldn't walk away from. Or a sea captain as he watched the last of the life boats disappear into the mist over frozen waters from the helm of his ship.

 

The look of a man who had just been told, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing else we can do."

 

"Peter..." he crossed the room in three easy steps, taking his shoulder in hand and forcing him to meet his eyes. "You can't. There's... there's got to be someone else. Someone who's already been infected. Someone who is dead either way!" His fingers tightened and he felt the muscles beneath twinge slightly even as Peter's eyes softened, his hand coming slowly to cover Wade's own.

 

"Wade-"

 

"You... you just can't. Peter. Don't you know how important you are? I need..." His hand fell by his side, head dropping as he found himself unable to bear the weight of Peter's sympathetic gaze. "It's like you said. The world needs Peter Parker."

 

"To some degree, maybe," Peter admitted. "But if that's true then it doesn't need me hiding away, waiting for someone else to come along and solve the problem for me. "

 

"But putting youself in the line of fire that like that? Sacrificing yourself?" It might have been whining. Wade didn't care.

 

"This isn't some diet pill or hair growth hormone, Wade." Peter explained, his voice soft and tired. "This is a completely untested form of treatment, and I can't ask anyone else to subject themselves to it. I can't act like their life is somehow worth less than mine."

 

Wade stared at him in silence, the passage of time marked only by the heaving rise and fall of his shoulders.

 

Peter Parker might have had all the trappings of a scientist. The white coat. The clipboard and clicking pen. The humming computer and overcrowded monitor, its display dwarfed only by the mountain of paperwork sharing its desk. His hair was permanently bedraggled in the tell-tale style of a man with too much going on to spend more than a few seconds running his fingers through its strands, and his eyes were ringed with a faint bruising that insisted sleep would have to wait.

 

Wade had known his share of scientists. Their compulsions and obsessive nature held no allure for him. He was no stranger to the "tortured genius" archtype, the sort who screamed that one day he'd "make them all see". Usually under a lightning storm.

 

But while Peter might have shared the do-or-die mindset that seemed to come pre-packaged with every labcoat and set of test tubes, for the first time Wade was slowly, barely coming to understand.

 

As he studied Peter, he took in the slight faltering stance of a man who had had more cups of coffee than hours of sleep in the last week, the growing suggestion of a decisive smile, and a determined glint in his eye that was achingly familiar, even though he'd only ever witnessed it from behind a mask.

 

The world needed Peter Parker. And he was here.

 

And maybe Spider-Man wasn't gone after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a few comments on other chapters asking what the virus was or what happened. I lifted the Legacy virus directly from the X-Men comics, but went ahead and explained it a little bit more here as well as its role in this story. In this AU things got *way* more out of hand than they ever did in the comics. Hopefully that clarifies things a little bit more for you all who weren't familiar with it!
> 
> Also, feel free to drop me a line over on tumblr @ amazing-spiderling.tumblr.com   
> I love comments and questions and stuff!


	9. Chapter 9

If this had been a movie, or a television show, or even a fucking comic book, Wade would have known what to expect. There would be a calendar on the wall, with a big date circled in red, each square leading up to it marked out with an oversized "X" as the days passed. There would be energetic chatter and stolen moments of time filled with him and Peter cooking in the kitchen or tidying the lab, all while an energetic pop song blared over the montage of these final days.

 

But life, as Wade had come to learn, was rarely quite so prettily packaged. There wasn't a calendar to count down the days, and they didn't have a month to spend getting ready. In fact, for several days, Wade didn't know that Peter had in fact chosen a date, until he mentioned it one night over cold coffee. A mere courtesy.

 

Or an afterthought.

 

"Whatever happens, you're off the hook. Even if Fury ends up shutting this place down, you'll be taken care of. Won't let you get sent back to one of those camps."

 

"Not sure how much faith I want to put in that promise, Pete," Wade admitted. "Not that I don't trust you, mind. But I've been burned before, and if you aren't around to put in a good word for me, I don't imagine SHIELD will be exactly prioritizing my comfort."

 

"Wade... I-"

 

"It's okay." And the smile he bore was almost enough to convince himself it really was. "Don't want you worrying your pretty little head over me. I'll be fine. I always am. Eventually."

 

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulders sliding up to brush at his ears, gaze falling as though he hoped to drown all his unspoken words at the bottom of his cup.

 

"Wade. I can't thank you enough. Everything you've done, the help you've given me here. Even if I'm wrong... even if I fail... somebody is going to find the answer. And it will likely be because of you." A stuttering breath made its way across his lips. "I just want you to know that I-"

 

"So when's the big day?"

 

Peter blinked rapidly, banishing the dull ache behind his eyes that had threatened to become something more.

 

"In four days."

 

"Taco Tuesday, I like your style, Pete." His grin softened into something more genuine, tongue darting across his lips just once as he watched his friend from across the table. He reached out, rumpling Peter's already unkempt hair.

 

"Don't you worry. It's gonna be okay. I'll be right here."

 

"And I won't let anything happen to you."

 

* * *

 

 

Wade regretted not requesting one of those Page-A-Day calendars early on, the sort with a new vocabulary word or completely authentic quote that Confucius definitely actually said. At least then he'd have the satisfaction of ripping the pages from the base and crumpling them up and throwing them at the wall with little care for whether they made it into the garbage or not. It would have been nice to have something tangible to ground him in the reality that in a few short days his friend- no, his _best_ friend, the best man he'd ever known would likely be sentencing himself to an untimely death. With the help of his own cursed genes, no less.

 

It almost didn't matter that it was to save the world.

 

When had the world last done Wade Wilson any favors, anyway?

 

Peter didn't say anything more about it, and tended to keep to himself those last days. At first Wade thought he might be having second thoughts, or at least some profound moments of introspection. But as he glimpsed the man through a slight sliver of light in the doorway, he found him working as hard as ever.

 

Every report, every test, every last finding had to be catalogued and filed away, keeping in mind the very real possibility that the next person to read them might not be Peter at all. In a few days time, all of his work might be handed off to the next team of researchers who would spend their time trying to sort out why he'd been wrong. Why he'd failed.

 

Why he'd died.

* * *

 

Wade had long since taken over all the cooking in the apartment, Peter not having much more than the most basic bachelor survival skills under his belt, and Wade in desperate need of something to to with his time. And though for the last several weeks, Peter had mostly resigned himself to stealing bites here and there, bits of sandwiches, cheese and crackers or the occasional apple Wade left out for him, Wade had insisted he take breaks for a hot meal at least once every few days. When Monday night finally arrived, he pressed the issue further than he normally might have.

 

Though Peter typically ate whatever was put in front of him with little argument, he had in fact once said that Wade's stuffed chicken chile verde was "very good". As far as Wade was concerned, this was a glowing recommendation. He'd managed to set aside everything he needed to make the dish again, even taking care to add extra vegetables so Peter wouldn't raise an eyebrow at the harrowing amount of cheese melted on top.

 

"It's got peppers, onions, mushrooms, spinach... it's practically a salad, Pete," he'd exclaimed, while shoveling an ample portion onto each plate. "Now eat up. You've got a big day tomorrow."

 

That was all he wanted to say about the matter, as though he was merely sending his friend off to a job interview or midterm exam. They both knew exactly what was coming, but that didn't mean Wade had to dwell on it.

 

Peter just gave him a tired sort of smile and nodded before digging in, pulling gooey strings of cheese away from his plate before popping a heavy forkful in his mouth.

 

"Oh, yeah. You can really taste the vitamins," he half smiled.

 

The rest of the meal passed in surprisingly mundane conversation. Wade shared the story of where he'd gotten the recipe originally, a small cantina where he'd been so taken with the food he had forgotten to complete the mission he'd been sent to Mexico for in the first place. Normally he would never have welched on a contract, but the meal had been just that good.

 

"I think the chef was worried I was gonna go all "Once Upon a Time in Mexico" on him, but all I did when I ran into the back of the kitchen was lay a big fat kiss on right on his mouth and offer to help him open a taco truck up here in the states." He grinned, leaning back in his chair so far it tipped halfway back off the ground. "He turned me down, wanted to stay close to his family. Probably for the best, come to think of it. Hope they're all doing okay these days. But if not, the legacy of his cuisine survives."

 

Peter's brow twitched slightly, his gaze falling to the now empty plate.

 

"Uh... well... you know what I mean, Pete." Wade amended, already hopping up to clear the table. "Why don't you take a load off, maybe pick out an after dinner movie for the two of us? I'll tidy up here."

 

Peter barely nodded before heading to the sofa, where Wade could just make out the back of his head, untidy hair just peeking over the back of the cushions as he hurried to clean the countertops and table. Normally he would have left such a task for the morning, but he didn't want anything else distracting from what was to come.

 

By the time he made it into the living room, he realized Peter had scarcely moved from his seat. The television was still dark and Peter hadn't appeared to have made any decisions regarding what they'd watch together.

 

_Too much like picking a last meal probably._

 

**Yeah it can get tricky. Who wants the last movie they watch in their whole life to be something like "Jack and Jill"?**

 

"It's not going to be the last-" Wade snapped, just loud enough for Peter to hear him, attention snapping up at last.

 

"S-sorry, I guess I got distracted," he apologized quickly. "It's okay, you can pick whatever you'd like to watch tonight, I'm feeling a little preoccupi-"

 

"Indecisive. Yeah, yeah I got ya," Wade interrupted. "Well no need to worry, you've got the world's authority on fine cinema right here, so you're in good hands when it comes to entertainment for the masses."

 

He rummaged around the collection of DVD's, glancing back over his shoulder before pulling "The Fifth Element" from the shelf. He hadn't seen it himself, but remembered Peter describing some of the cinematography and special effects with a sort of fondness that told Wade it was a favorite. After popping it into the player, he settled onto the sofa, his left arm just close enough to brush against Peter's side as the movie began to play. He glanced over just in time to see the edges of Peter's eyes crinkle with recognition as the black screen lightened and Bruce Willis groaned himself into some sort of wakefulness. There were a few moments as he stumbled around his shoebox of an apartment, something more like the capsule hotels Wade had always meant to try out in Tokyo than even his current modest accommodations. Even so, there was something oddly familiar about the idea of bumping elbows with every cabinet and corner as a large, active man being barely contained in such a comically small space. At least the cat could come and go as she pleased.

 

Wade hadn't seen the movie before himself, but found he couldn't keep his attention focused on the screen. The plot was engaging, the actors all extremely attractive, and yet he found his eyes constantly trailing to the side. He let his attention linger there, taking in the glimmers of light in Peter's eyes, shades of blue and green playing across the planes of his cheek and nose.

 

Before long he was flat out staring at the weary scientist beside him, but it didn't seem to matter. Peter's attention was scarcely held by the movie on screen, his eyes lax and unfocused even as he stared straight ahead.

 

Even with alien operettas and flying cars sailing across the screen, Wade knew Peter could only be thinking about one thing.

 

He turned his head back towards the television, to at least give the semblance of watching the screen, but the outrageous antics of the characters on screen just gave him more reason to revisit the past.

 

It was one thing, he supposed, to jump in front of a truck to save a busload of schoolchildren. To rush into a burning building to free survivors trapped within. Or to leap in front of gun and take a bullet for an innocent victim. They were tangible acts, instantaneous. Real.

 

It was another thing entirely to risk one's safety and security for uncertain results. To know that you could die as a result of your efforts, and it might not even make a difference.

 

Wade certainly couldn't make that call. Especially if he wasn't secure in the knowledge that he'd spring back to life, relatively unharmed a few hours later. And were he dealing with any other man, he might have argued his case a little more, even now.

 

It must have been a very strange life indeed to bring Peter Parker to this time an place, to make him the sort of man he was. Wade imagined he hadn't ever met a man so determined and resolute, so absolutely hell bent on sacrificing himself as though it wasn't just the only option, but an obvious necessity.  And certainly, Peter had told him a bit more about his personal life, his upbringing and family. But Wade still couldn't seem to get the shape of things, still couldn't wrap his head around why Peter felt such a connection to the people in his city, or the entire world, for that matter.

 

For a moment, Wade thought he would have liked to have met Uncle Ben.

 

He didn't notice when it was that Peter's head came to fall against his shoulder. Wade had only looked over to check on him once again when he realized he'd fallen fast asleep, lips hanging open, his chest pushing against Wade's shoulder gently with each rise and fall. Even over the din of the movie, Wade could just about make out his faint snores, and he immediately resolved not to move until Peter woke of his own volition.

 

Which is why when the movie ended, the credits rolled, and the screen faded back to black, Wade remained perfectly still. And Peter slept on.

 

It was only through the slightest of nudges, one finger eking out across the arm of the sofa until it was close enough to draw the remote control back into Wade's lap that he actually turned off the screen, and even so he still checked to make sure the sudden loss of white noise hadn't caused Peter to stir. Thankfully, he was still at peace.

 

Wade indulged himself a few minutes longer, relishing the sight of the man at his side, features haggard but at least at rest in a way he hardly ever got to see them. He just wished it wasn't sheer exhaustion that had finally brought Peter to this point.

 

Daring to lean a little closer, he buried his nose in the unruly mess of Peter's hair, unsurprised to find the mixed scent of coffee and sweat still lingering there.

 

A few seconds more and Wade pressed his lips against the crown of Peter's head, letting them rest there as his eyes slipped closed and he let his senses and thoughts be cleared of anything else beyond this one person who had become so important to him. Who was starting to mean more to him than anyone else in what was left in the wreckage of the world.

 

He chose not to bother worrying about the reason why.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Wade found Peter back in his lab, looking if not chipper then at least a bit better rested. And perhaps, resigned.

 

"Sleep well then, Pete?" he asked, falling back onto the seat by Peter's side, close enough that it would take no effort at all to brush up against him.

 

"Yeah... as well as could be expected," Peter admitted. "Sorry if I made your arm go numb."

 

"Nahh, it's no trouble. These guns have been through a lot worse, you know?" He flexed a bicep and gave it loud puckered smack just for show.  He tried not to show his disappointment when Peter offered him half a smile but nothing more.

 

"So..." he drawled on.

 

"So."

 

"Today is the day."

 

"Yeah."

 

"You want me to um... I dunno, give you some space? Or stick around and stroke your ego? Stroke something else?" It wasn't hard to don his typical cartoon grin, even after all this time, but it had rarely felt so empty.

 

Peter exhaled once through his nose, probably about as close to an actual laugh as he'd get, given the circumstances.

 

"...Want me to hold your hand?"

 

Peter looked up at that. "Would... would you mind?"

 

Wade didn't even answer, just took Peter's hand in his own, squeezing it just tight enough to provide a grounding presence, one that went both ways if he was being entirely honest. He let his thumb make slow circles, butting up against Peter's knuckles with each one. For a few minutes, they simply sat in silence.

 

"I want to thank you again Wade, for everything."

 

Wade shook his head, tightening his grip for a second or two. "It's me that ought to be thanking you, for getting me out of that place, giving me a chance to-"

 

"You didn't belong there to begin with," Peter interjected, looking out ahead rather than to Wade's eyes. "No- nobody did. Everyone-"

 

"What I was _trying_ to say," Wade stopped him with a gentle nudge to his shoulder, "is that I want to thank you for giving me a chance to be a part of something. To be part of a solution instead of just everybody's problem. It felt... good. And I don't get to feel good too often."

 

"It... it might not work."

 

"It will."

 

Peter's shoulders bucked slightly with a hint of a laugh. "And then millions upon millions of people will get the treatment. Each one running around with a little bit of Wade Wilson inside them."

 

The empty smile Wade had painted on his face broadened into a more genuine grin as he laughed heartily at the thought. "God... I don't even know what joke to make! Too many choices. I'm dying here! A little bit of..." he threw his head back and chuckled with a deep rumble Peter couldn't help but find catching, and the quiet coolness of the lab was briefly warmed by their shared laughter.

 

"You're one in a million, Pete," Wade said at last, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye with his free hand. "Ten million. Ten billion. I've visited the multiverses. I've checked."

 

"Thanks."

 

"So!" Wade slapped the thigh of one leg, clearing it from some imagined particles of dust, making a show of getting ready for work. "When do we get started?"

 

"Wade..." Peter looked back up to him, the smile on his lips at odds with the hint of tears threatening to show themselves at any moment.

 

"...It's already done."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch now! I wanted to give a big thanks to all the peeps on the spideypool discord "Isn't it Bromantic" for being really encouraging when it comes to writing, and just great role models all around when it comes to content creation. Y'all are the real heroes. :3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at amazing-spiderling.tumblr.com if you wanna like... chat... about things... XD


	10. Chapter 10

It was six weeks since Peter had gone.

 

It was important to remember that. Peter had gone. Not "Peter was taken" or "Peter was in a better place." Nothing that took away the man's agency, that implied anything about what had happened was anything less than his choice.

 

Six weeks, three days, eight hours since Peter had gone.

 

And at this point Wade was starting to wonder about his own fate. He was still in the apartment, still sleeping in Peter's old room, still sitting alone on the sofa only half watching TV. Still staring at the wall counting the days.

 

Since Peter had gone.

 

He still had food left to eat, though it had been a while since the last drop and he was starting to get a little anxious about whether or not there'd be another any time soon. He started to ration out his portions, just in case.

 

It wouldn't have been the worst prison in the world, not that he wanted to stay here forever. Even he would get sick of rewatching the best of Nicholas Cage eventually. But he knew it was stupid to think about "forever" at all. Nothing lasted forever. Not Twinkies, not war, not even diamonds, no matter what the commercials said.

 

And six weeks, three days, and ten hours after Peter had gone, Wade Wilson's solitude came to an end as well.

 

"Well hello there, Nick. Fancy seeing you after all this time."

 

"Wilson," the agent grumbled. "You're looking... better than when we last met."

 

"Aw, you do flatter me, Nicky," Wade beamed. "Just need a little tender loving care that's all, and without a roomie to dazzle with my sparkling wit and conversation it's all been self love if you know what I mean." He crossed his arms over his chest as he broadened his stance, waiting for Fury to get to the reason why he'd decided to pay him a visit at last.

 

Fury decided to ignore the comment, instead choosing to silently scan the main room of the apartment. It wasn’t the cover of “Better Homes and Gardens” but Wade done his best to keep it livable. There were a few plates Wade hadn't yet cleared away, and his blanket was loosely draped over the sofa where he'd fallen asleep trying to pay attention to one of the Jurassic Park sequels.

 

_How the hell did they manage to make dinosaurs boring?_

 

**#BringBackToplessJeffGoldblum2025**

 

"I was expecting to have to send a HAZMAT crew in here for clean up. I'm surprised to see the place is still more or less standing."

 

"Yeah well, senseless destruction has kind of lost its appeal since the world became hell bent on blowing itself up without any help from yours truly," Wade scoffed. Besides, this place was Peter's. It would have felt wrong to let it fall apart.

 

"Get your things if you have any," Fury snapped, startling Wade out of his thoughts. "We have a car waiting."

 

Wade's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the man's face, doing his best to glean any other information from him, but Fury remained as inscrutable as ever. Giving up, Wade shrugged and trudged off to his room.

 

There wasn't much there, but he stuffed a few changes of clothes in a bag. There was no guarantee the place he was headed to next would be gracious enough to provide such things.

 

_And if we're heading back to a camp it never hurts to have wardrobe options!_

 

**Or at least something to cover up this car crash we call a face. Keep the sick from suffering any more than they have to.**

 

Wade gritted his teeth at that. He'd been alone for weeks and before that his only company had been Peter, who had never made any comment about his skin aside from offering him the option of a mask during his first days in the apartment. It sat in the top drawer of the room's dresser, unused, ever since. Wade found it now, and stretched it in his hands a few times, watching as the eyes and mouth contorted into a cartoonish grimace. He stuffed it in his pocket as he slung the bag over his shoulder and exited to the hallway, only to find Fury poking around in Peter's old workspace.

 

A sudden rush of something hot and acid and urgent swelled in the pit of Wade's stomach as he stepped a foot in the room, his eyes trailing after Fury as he perused what was left of Peter's work.

 

_What is he doing in here?_

 

**He'll mess it up, ruin things!**

 

It wasn't as though there was much in the way of research materials left to browse. Everything had already been carefully recorded, catalogued, and sent off to SHIELD weeks ago. But Wade had tried to leave the room as undisturbed as possible, the cup of pencils on the same side of the desk, half-used stack of sticky notes just above the keyboard. Everything just as Peter had left it.

 

Just in case.

 

It felt wrong now, to see Nick Fury shifting around the room in his damn boots and leather jacket, taking in every corner of the place as if he were in a goddamn museum, rather than the last home of a bonafide fucking hero who'd given everything he could to try and save a world that seemed like it was never more than a few steps away from the verge of collapse.

 

"I'd tell you to take a picture for your scrapbook, but that's probably tricky huh? Depth perception has gotta throw off all your shots."

 

"If you're already scraping the bottom of the barrel for jokes it's going to be a hell of a long ride," was the only response. But finally, Fury turned around and saw Wade with his bag at the ready. "Glad to see you travel light." He stepped out of the lab and towards the front door of the apartment again, the half dozen locks and mechanisms falling open at his touch.

 

Wade stared as the door opened into the dark of a hallway he'd never seen, and he realized he was actually reluctant to leave the apartment. This place that had been a haven from the outside world. More than that.

 

For a time, it was home.

 

* * *

 

 

It would have been better if it was raining, Wade thought, his head pressed against the glass as the buildings of the city pass by in a blur. Rain spattering against the window, classic rock playing on the radio, soft and indistinct like the muzak at a mid-tier steakhouse that thinks people won't recognize the Beatles if it's played on a synthesizer. With a mood like that, Wade wouldn't have felt so out of place, but here he was, scowling into the bright light of the sun as it attacked him from the reflections of windshields and store fronts.

 

At least in the absence of any mood music, both Fury and his SHIELD chauffeur remained blessedly silent as well.

 

It was similar to when he was brought to the apartment the first time around, Wade thought.

 

**Except we can see. And we've bathed in the last week. And eaten today. Twice, even.**

 

_And we're sad to be leaving._

 

...Maybe it wasn't so similar after all.

 

Eventually even the silence grew too much for Wade to handle and he tried doing what he did best, plying the two men with questions about their personal lives, the weather, and even the latest sports finals. Because even if the nation was on the brink of utter collapse, there were some things Americans would never let go.

 

He knew better than to ask about their destination directly.

 

"So rent in Queens getting a little to pricey for SHIELD?" He started rambling. "Yeahhh, that doesn't surprise me. At first it's all homey bodegas full of cats and questionable deli meats but then the hipsters move in with their organic smoothies and dog boutiques and pretty soon you can't rent a broom closet for less than two grand. Well I'm sure wherever you're taking me for summer vacation will prove just as charming."

 

He wasn't not stupid. He knew there was no way SHIELD would release him out into the general population with a simple pat on the back and a, "Thanks for trying and totally failing to help the last real hero in the world solve all our problems" but he entertained the notion for a few seconds nevertheless.

 

When the car drove up to a somber, military looking building his stomach sank.

 

The door was opened for him, but he was already halfway out before the driver had a chance to step back. At this point he didn't care if he stepped on the man's toes or bumped a few shoulders. Wade stared up at the building, a flat, minimalist structure in black and grey. It didn't look much like any of the camps he'd been carted to in the past, but that didn't mean he could rest easy just yet. Buildings that looked this ominous typically had a reason to do so. It was like all the shady organizations in the world used the same architecture firm. There were whole websites on the internet dedicated to it.

 

Peter had probably tried his best to keep his promise. Wade knew this because he knew Peter tried his best at everything he did, until the effort burned him up from the inside and there wasn't anything left. He could easily imagine him arguing with Fury, pleading with him for Wade's well-being, just as easily as he could imagine Fury dismissing every word.  He'd accepted Peter's words easily when they given; it would have been rude not to. But Wade had known better than to let himself rely on them, tie any real hope to them in the long run. Not because he thought Peter hadn't meant them, but because the world was full of people with more important things to do than keep other people's promises.

 

"Inside, Wilson," Fury instructed him, briskly but without any of his usual vitriol.

 

Wade was just glad he wasn't being dragged in cuffs this time around.

 

The room he found himself in was sparse, but efficiently designed, and Wade quickly recognized it for what it was- some small satellite of SHIELD operations. At least he hoped this bare bones operation wasn't their main base. He was all for seeing the mighty fall, but knew that the world was not exactly prepared to function without its all-seeing-all-knowing safety net in place.

 

Still, old habits died hard and after being left alone with nothing to occupy his time he was soon seated at one of the consoles, pecking away at the keyboard to see if he could hack into the system long enough to get some idea of where he was and what he was doing here. Unfortunately his skills were a little rusty, and as the password to the mainframe wasn't any variation of "NickFuryROXXX" he was unable to make any progress before he realized he wasn't alone.

 

"Did you try SWORDFISH?" came a familiar, if quiet lilt.

 

Wade was out of his seat before he'd managed to turn, knocking his chair to the floor as his eyes widened at the sight of a face he was sure he'd never see again.

 

"...Peter."

 

"It's good to see you, Wade."

 

He lost no time in crossing the room, kicking the desk chair to the side so hard its wheels were left spinning hopelessly in the air.

 

**This probably isn't real, you know?**

 

_It's just a hallucination brought on by your desperation and loneliness, most likely._

 

Normally, Wade would have been inclined to agree, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd dared to hope for anything so grand.

 

Peter looked a little rough around the edges, his eyes still rimmed with a sleepless purple blush, hair unkempt and swayed to one side. His clothing hung loosely from his frame, and was likely overdue for changing.

 

Wade thought he looked perfect.

 

In a single sweeping gesture, he wrapped his arms around the man, gratified when he felt the tension flooding from Peter's body, his thin steady arms rising up to circle him as well.

 

"Wade-"

 

"I thought you were dead," the words tumbled out immediately. "I was so sure of it. It had been so long since I'd heard anything about you. Heard anything from SHIELD at all. I gave up hoping for... for anything. Thought they'd just forgotten about me and were going to let me rot in that apartment with nothing but my memories for company til I went even crazier than I am now. I thought-"

 

He could have gone on for ages, could have voiced each and every uncertainty, every fear that had run through his head at night when the silence of the apartment took over. But Peter stilled him with a gentle hand against his chest and a single shake of his head.

 

"Wade... Wade I'm so sorry." His hand lingered a few second before finally falling away. "I wanted to contact you, honestly. From the first day. But there was no way. When we realized the treatment was proving successful, we had to take every precaution to protect the research." Peter hung his head, clearly not proud of the way things had gone. "Believe it or not, there are people in the world who think they can capitalize on Legacy, and they would do anything to stop a cure from being found."

 

The very idea was baffling, but Wade had seen enough of the underworld to know that the darkest corners were full of scum who didn't care at all about the welfare of humankind if they thought there was a profit to be made. But there was no time to name names, after all, Peter had said-

 

"A cure... you've found the cure."

 

"Well," Peter smiled and gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "I didn't exactly do it alone."

 

Wade's shoulders sagged with relief, but thankfully Peter's hand remained where it was.

 

"It's really... really something, y'know Pete? Being a part of a team. A part of something that helps people for a change."

 

It was Peter's turn to smile. "I was hoping you'd say something like that."

 

He stepped aside, breaking the contact with Wade who briefly lamented the loss, but was quickly distracted as he watched Peter right the chair he'd knocked over and take a seat at the console. After clearing away Wade's failed attempt at logging in, he input the correct series of security passcodes and soon had a number of displays open, files and schematics flying by in an array that would have made Tony Stark proud.

 

"APOLLO?" Wade asked, leaning over the back of Peter's chair as he pointed at the unfamiliar golden logo. "What's that?"

 

"A team," Peter answered quietly. "A team to help people."

 

"Not sure I follow," he tilted his head, examining the image on screen. "We're not going to the moon are we? Is Tom Hanks a part of this team? Only the logo is a sun... Apollo was a sun god or something? Oh damn... I'm just getting that. Ugh is that what passes for humor at NASA? Bunch of nerds..."

 

"I thought you liked nerds," Peter asked quietly, peering up at him.

 

Wade puffed a breath of air out of his nose. "Only the cute ones."

 

Peter cleared his throat at that, turning back to the screen. "Well you're part right. Apollo was the god of the sun, among other things. Light, poetry, plague..." He paused for a moment, hands resting just above the keyboard.

 

"And healing."

 

He and opening up another file, this one with a map of North America and a short list of locations with various statistics alongside them, updating in realtime. Most of them were major cities, but Wade recognized a few more of the locations as unfortunate rural hotspots for Legacy outbreaks.

 

"We have a cure," Peter explained, "but that's only part of the equation. No matter how effective the treatment is, it's no good to us unless we can find a way to reach these groups and administer it. And this is only the start; there are infected populations across the globe, many of them in difficult to reach or restricted locations." His hands sank into his lap as he stared blankly ahead at the screen.

 

"There are even some places where the locals believe Legacy is some kind of righteous cleansing. They're actively rejecting the very notion of a cure. Even if we can get to these places, it... it's going to be an uphill battle."

 

The very idea that there were people in the world who could look at Peter's hard work, at everything he'd sacrificed and spit in his face was more than enough to get Wade's blood boiling. His hands twitched uselessly, grabbing at empty air in the shape of weapons he'd long since laid aside.

 

"And that's where you come in," Peter continued at last. "If you're willing."

 

Wade pulled back, taking in the sight of Peter at his desk, back bent and face weary. But his eyes still dared to shine with hope.

 

"You want me..."

 

"We need someone who knows how to get into places they're not meant to go. Someone who is an expert at infiltration and is good at thinking on their feet. Someone who isn't afraid to enter dangerous territory if that's what it takes to get the job done."

 

Wade stood silent, his arms crossed tight against his chest as he turned his next words over in his mind.

 

"Who's asking?" He spoke at last. "Doctor Peter Parker... or..."

 

"Does it really matter?"

 

He barked out half a laugh at that, one hand falling loose at his side while the other rubbed at the back of his neck.

 

"No," he admitted. "I don't suppose it does. I just wanted to know who I'd be working with."

 

Peter sighed a little, rising from his chair to face Wade, looking up at him with that same determined optimism Wade had sorely missed.

 

"I think Peter Parker has done all he can for the time being. My research... our work... it's all in good hands now. For the first time in... in a long time... I think I can put on the suit with the satisfaction of a job well done."

 

"I think, maybe it’s time... This world needs its heroes again."

 

"Heroes, huh?" Wade his chin tipped up as a smile crept across his face. "I like the sound of that."

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUGH It's done!!!! It seems so surreal!  
> TBH There's really no reason it should have taken me so long to write a fic, but I finished it in under a year, that counts for something right? haha. I have to give a big hug to the peeps over at the Isn't it Bromantic Discord server for being a constant inspiration when it comes to writing and just being rad and encouraging in general. 
> 
> As always I love comments and feedback. Or you can just find me over on tumblr at amazing-spiderling if you wanna chat or share memes or whatever.
> 
> Thank you again everyone who read this fic and left me comments and kudos. Each and everyone one was treasured by my tender heart. You are all diamonds!


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